


From Small Beginnings

by Abbie, always_a_queen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/pseuds/always_a_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the spring of 2009, Tommy Merlyn refuses, nearly two years after the sinking of the Queen’s Gambit, to believe that his best friend Oliver Queen is dead, no matter that everyone else has given up. Determined to find Oliver and bring him home, Tommy hires recent MIT graduate and fresh Queen Consolidated recruit Felicity Smoak to expand his search beyond the limitations of his own reach.</p><p>Their partnership will shift the course of their lives, and what they find will change everything…</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Small Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a "what if" meta back and forth with always_a_queen (andyouweremine) on Tumblr, and we swore we wouldn't write it, neither of us had time, too many ongoing projects, etc. etc. And then I was sick a couple nights this week and instead of sleeping I plotted out the beginning of this damn AU we weren't writing. As you can see. We're writing it. God help us all.

 

Tommy should have taken the executive elevator back down.

If he’d been thinking clearly at all, he’d have instantly recognized that taking the public-access elevator was not the best way to be alone with one’s thoughts, or the best place to gather one’s composure.

Mostly what he’d been thinking had been a string of increasingly bleak and angry swears and how badly he needed to get _away_ before he said something he regretted.

Even still, he made it sixteen floors down in solitude, slouched sullenly against the back wall of the elevator, designer jeans and sweater rumpled from a second day’s use and hands clenching and unclenching around the brace-rail bolted to the wall. Admittedly, he probably hadn’t helped his case with Moira by racing over direct from the bed of last night’s temporary companion, but he’d woken up with fresh zeal and new ideas and perhaps an overabundance of excitement.

He should have _expected_ her rejection, her adamant dismissal. It still stung.

Why could _nobody_ else understand that just because Oliver hadn’t been found didn’t mean he was _dead_?

Sixteen floors, he stewed in his outrage and hurt—and then the elevator slowed, and the doors opened. Tommy bit back a scowl, scooting a little closer to the corner and hoping to be unnoticed. Hoping that the employees of Queen Consolidated would be better socialized than to gawk at the Merlyn heir.

Only two people filtered through the doors, barely glancing at him as they closed, and hit the Lobby button; a squat, stocky guy in a regrettable post-it yellow short-sleeved button up and a blonde in glasses barely shorter than him. To Tommy’s relief, they seemed too engrossed in a prior conversation to gawk.

“I’m just saying, Smoak, you keep letting them get away with it and they’ll walk all over you forever. You graduated MIT by the age most of those assholes were rushing their first frat, with _two_ Masters, and like a freaking portfolio of job offers. You could stand to rub their faces in it a little.” Post-It Guy snorted bitterly. “If I didn’t drop the word ‘Stanford’ every couple days they’d have drummed a brown guy like me out of the department faster than you could say ‘thank you, come again.’”

The blonde—Smoak—shook her head. “I’m not exactly letting them ‘get away with it’, Rajit, trust me.” She rocked a little on her ballet flats, hands balling over and over into fists against her black pencil skirt. “If Stan won’t do his job and make them back off, I can take care of it myself.”

Rajit cast her a quick, impressed glance. “Oh, _there_ she is. I was starting to think you’d gone too legit and got defanged. And what color hat will you be wearing this time?”

Tommy perked up, but tried to look like he wasn’t paying attention.

Smoak hummed, a little smug. “You know grey was always my color.”

“So how grey are we talking here?” Rajit asked eagerly. “Like, porn attachments on all their work emails or Craigslist ads for underage hookers with their contact info?”

“Rajit,” Smoak hissed, placing a quelling hand on her coworker’s arm and glancing back at Tommy—who very intently studied the display of his iPhone. “Dial it back a little, I’m not trying to lose my job. I _need_ this job.”

Rajit sighed loudly and patted Smoak’s fingers in sympathy. “Student loans. I feel you. Light grey, then, got it. You need backup, say the word. Always happy to help take a shit on Jake and his broclan.”

Smoak shook her head, but fondly. “Thanks, but I’ve got it more than covered.” She glanced up at the floor display and Tommy realized they’d be hitting the lobby any moment. “You heading out to meet Betty?”

Rajit grinned, looking like a hundred smitten saps Tommy had seen before. “Yeah, we’re getting Thai. Sure you don’t wanna come?”

Smoak shot him a skeptical look. “Right, because crashing your lovebird lunch sounds _super_ appetizing. Thanks, I’ll stick with Milo’s.”

The elevator settled with a soft jolt, and Rajit scoffed. “Enjoy your overpriced deli meat. See you in an hour.”

Smoak and Rajit exited the elevator, Rajit splitting left towards the parking garage exit and Smoak cutting straight across the lobby. Pocketing his phone, Tommy pushed off the elevator wall and aimed for nonchalance as he strolled after her, wheels turning rapidly in his head as he focused on the bouncing blonde curls of her ponytail.

Maybe Moira wouldn’t—couldn’t bear to—help him directly. But when he _found_ Oliver and brought him home, wouldn’t she be grateful he’d found a way to nominally include her in the effort?

It was a better idea than going around Moira and enlisting Thea to help him out. The last time he’d tried that, Moira had been furious and threatened to stop him seeing Thea. He’d prefer to avoid risking that again if at all possible.

Tommy followed Smoak out the doors of Queen Consolidated and down the front steps, making sure to linger a good five or so feet behind as she hung a left onto the crowded Thursday lunch-rush sidewalk. He kept track of her as much by her cutesy blue-anchors-on-white short sleeved blouse as by her bright hair. Down the block, he could see the signage for the popular deli bakery Milo’s and decided to corner her there.

He was starting to feel like a creep, stalking her like this.

Just as she reached the storefront of Milo’s, Smoak stopped, fingers curled around the strap of her small messenger bag, and whirled around, ponytail whipping. Tommy froze as she pinned him with with a hard look overtop of her dark-framed rectangular glasses, looking for all the world like the wet dream of a disapproving librarian he or Ollie might’ve had in high school.

He _definitely_ wasn’t noticing that her vivid pink lipstick made her frown look extra pouty.

“You,” she planted her feet and drew back her shoulders, tone accusatory, and Tommy stopped with a cringe. “You’ve been following me. You need to stop. I don’t care what you’re selling or who you’re gonna lose a bet with if you don’t get my number, _leave_.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Tommy lifted his hands in surrender. “Whoa, hey, no, I am not a creep, Smoak, promise.”

Her head pulled back, lips parting and brows jumping in skeptical surprise. “Wow, really? Because knowing my name without me giving it to you seems pretty creepy to me.”

Lips twitching in amusement, Tommy gave her a droll look. “You don’t want people to overhear things, you shouldn’t hold conversations in occupied elevators.” He licked his lips, lowering his hands and taking a cautious step towards her. “For instance, I really hope that whole,” he circled a hand at her vaguely, “ _hacking_ thing you do wasn’t supposed to be a secret.”

She flushed faintly across the cheeks, but the stubborn jut of her chin made him less sure it was embarrassment over anger. She spoke next through gritted teeth. “What do you _want_?”

Tommy grinned charmingly, tucking his chin and lifting his brows. “To offer you a job.”

Face folding into lines of skeptical dismissal, Smoak shifted a foot towards the entrance of the deli. “No thanks. I have a job, and you couldn’t afford me.”

She turned to go and Tommy sucked in a breath and took a risk, sliding quick into her space and pressing his fingertips to the inside of her elbow. Voice low, he caught her eye—hers a wary lighter blue to his darker fervid ones—and smiled with all the confidence he could command. “Actually, I can.” He took his fingers off her arm and stood straight, sticking out a hand. “I didn’t get to introduce myself before. Tommy Merlyn.”

Smoak glanced down at his hand, lips pursed, and then squinted up at his face. Her eyes ran him over and he watched recognition touch her expression. Unfortunately, it also deepened in suspicion. “Whatever corporate espionage game you’re trying to play, you can forget it involving me, Mr. Merlyn.”

With that clipped dismissal, she shoved bodily past him and through the door of Milo’s.

Swearing, Tommy spun on his heel and pushed in after her, stopping short behind her in the line for the deli counter. “Jesus, listen, it’s nothing like that. Please, you think I work for my _dad_?” Tommy scoffed a laugh. “I don’t _work_ for anybody.”

Back stiff, Smoak cast him a scowl over her shoulder. “Well some of us _do_ , and I only get an hour for lunch, so please. Stop wasting my time and leave me alone.”

Shit. Realizing he was wading knee-deep in fuckup waters, Tommy sucked in a deep breath and tried to get his shit in order. “Look, I’m not trying to waste your time or harass you, but I’ve run out of other options. I need your help.” She half turned to look at him in hostile disbelief. Clapping his hands together at his chest, he put on his best contrite puppy eyes, the ones that had always, always worked on Raisa. “Let me just—let me just buy you lunch and tell you what I’m asking. At the end of the hour, you say no, I’m gone, you never see me again. Promise.”

She stared at him hard, unbudging, and he was a little put out by her immunity to the puppy pout.

Ducking his head a little lower, he asked in a small voice, “Please?”

She softened with a sigh, and hope leapt in his chest. “I’ll buy my _own_ lunch.” Smoak rolled her eyes, turning back to face the menu board as the line scooted up. “But if you happen to sit at my table I probably wouldn’t be able to avoid hearing you speak.”

Grinning, Tommy stayed apace behind her and shoved his hands in his pockets, flush with preemptive victory. “Deal. So, Smoak, what’s good here?”

“Felicity.”

Tommy squinted at the chalk menu board. “Is that a special? I’m not seeing it.”

“No,” that was definitely a laugh in her voice. “ _I’m_ Felicity. Felicity Smoak.”

He transferred his gaze back to the back of her head, smile curling a little warmer and creasing the corners of his eyes. “ _Fantastic_ to meet you, Felicity Smoak. Any recommendations?”

She shrugged, shuffling forward again as another customer walked away with their order, leaving one person ahead of them. “Everything’s good here. I have a usual, but I like Milo’s. Not a lot of delis in Starling do kosher, and okay, maybe I don’t actually _need_ kosher, not being a practicing Jew and all, but it’s nice to know that if I _were_ , Milo’s would have my back.”

Tommy blinked and filed that information away for another time. “Noted. Guess I’ll go with a roast beef on rye.”

Their turn came up and true to her word, Felicity paid for her own order, apparently already prepped and ready for her by the smiling, scrawny kid behind the counter. Usual, indeed. It rather amused Tommy the way the kid eyed him with general suspicion while Felicity stood by and waited for him to put in his order, as if the guy were five seconds from squeakily asking Felicity if Tommy were bothering her.

Feeling generous, he stuffed a twenty in the tip jar and walked away with Felicity, holding a little plastic number card.

She led him to a table by the windows and sat down, unwrapping her sandwich without bothering to look up at him. Lifting her sandwich to her mouth, she said, “You’ve got forty minutes.”

Perking up, antsy energy buzzing in his fingertips, Tommy sat forward and licked his lips. He kind of wished he’d paid more attention to lessons about sales pitch during those Harvard business classes he’d almost completed. Usually he could coast through on charm and money. He was a little worried that wasn’t going to cut it with Felicity Smoak.

“So I want to offer you a job. Maybe it was eavesdropping, but I hear you have a talent with computers that is maybe outside the conventional.” Felicity chewed a large bite of sandwich unselfconsciously, eyes widening briefly as if to mark the understatement. “I also heard you’ve got some student loan debt you’d like to offset.”

Swallowing her mouthful, her expression turned stony and she set her sandwich down.

Realizing he was poking a sore subject, Tommy resolved to brazen through. “I can help with that. I’m not trying to headhunt you away from Queen Consolidated, but if you’d be interested in some part-time freelancing, I’d be willing to pay handsomely for your time.”

Felicity sat back against her chair, head held high. He was getting the feeling she was stubborn—and maybe a little proud. “Still not hearing anything about what you _want_ , and if I wanted to freelance on the side I’d have plenty of options.”

Narrowing his eyes, Tommy leaned back to mirror her posture, setting one hand on the tabletop and tapping a fingernail against the formica idly. “I need someone to create a search and monitoring program or network that can troll global news and social media for specific mentions or sightings, and what I _really_ need is someone who can do that without letting petty boundaries get in the way.”

“‘Petty boundaries,’” Felicity repeated dryly. “You mean _laws_.”

He tipped his head, conceding the point. “I’ve watched enough movies to know what a grey hat means. I would think that wouldn’t be too much a sticking point for you.”

Her eyebrows popped high, lips parting, but she bit her tongue as a plump, cheerful waitress dropped off Tommy’s sandwich order. He accepted it with a broad smile and wink just to see the girl blush as she hurried away, and started unwrapping his food when he turned back to Felicity.

His hands froze. He’d seen less chilly ski slopes.

Mouth a tight, tiny smile, Felicity shook her head and began to wrap the uneaten half of her sandwich back up. “I think you watch too many movies, Mr. Merlyn.”

“Tommy,” he interjected reflexively. The formal version… itched.

“ _Tommy_ ,” she corrected with clear annoyance, lancing him with another of those over-the-glasses stares. “In the real world, not all hackers are for sale. We don’t all just jump to do your bidding if you wave around a thick enough stack of dollar bills. Whatever I may be willing to do, I like to have reasons. _Good_ reasons. And frankly, I haven’t heard the first thing from you that sounded like even a bad one.”

She shouldered her bag again and tucked her sandwich inside it, and when she stood, panicked frustration flared in Tommy’s chest again—like everything, _everything_ was slipping through his fingers. He reached out and took hold of her wrist.

Not tightly. If a touch could beg someone not to leave, his loose circling of her wrist was that.

Felicity looked down at his hand, stiffening, and then slowly raised her gaze to his. Holy shit, if looks could kill.

Swallowing a hard lump in his throat—his pride, he imagined—Tommy let his desperation show naked in his eyes. Looking up at her and letting go of all his smooth bluster, he said, “Please. I just—I’m just trying to find my best friend. I need to—I _can’t_ stop looking. I can’t give up on him. But I’m out of rocks I know how to turn over.” She still stared at him. “ _Please_.”

Slowly, holding his eyes, Felicity twisted her wrist out of his grasp, and he withdrew his hand to the tabletop, bitter pill of defeat sinking in his gut. He sat back with a sigh, one hand scrubbing over the back of his neck, and stared glumly at his sandwich.

The chair across from him scraped against the floor tiles and Tommy looked up in surprise. Felicity sat back down like she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t regret this.

“Your friend. The one you’re looking for.” She took a deep breath. “Oliver Queen? The guy in the shipwreck two years ago?”

“Seventeen months,” Tommy clarified grimly. “Seventeen months since my best friend in _life_ disappeared on the water. They didn’t find a body, but they stopped looking after six.”

Felicity tilted her head on one side, still skeptical. “Couldn’t you just hire someone from your dad’s company?”

He barked a harsh laugh. “ _My_ dad? Please. He’d cut my nuts off for wasting his company’s resources on a ‘dead end.’” His jaw worked, resentment simmering in his veins at the remembered slap. He bit his consonants off sharp, “Pun intended.”

She stared at him a long moment, the hostility gone from her posture and expression. Lips pressing together, she searched his face.

Feeling like she was waiting, Tommy leaned forward again, back hunched, all his determination burning in his eyes like he could physically transfer his need to her. “Listen, Felicity, you probably think I’m crazy, or deluded, or just pathetically in denial. You wouldn’t be the only one by a longshot. But I am sick and tired of everybody just—just _giving up_ , like Ollie’s dead just because it’s too much effort to prove he isn’t. I don’t care if I sound like a lunatic, Oliver Queen is alive and out there and waiting to come home. He’s not dead. He is _not dead_. I’d just—” He sat back again, both hands going into his hair, sliding down to grip the back of his neck. “I’d know. I’d just… if he were really… I’d _know_.”

Felicity chewed her lip, and Tommy just couldn’t _stand_ the waiting.

“Just tell me. If you’re not gonna help me, just say it.” He shook his head, letting his hands fall into his lap. “Maybe it’s not a good reason, but it’s all I’ve got left.”

She took a deep breath, muttered a curse, rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and closed them. Exhaling lengthily, she opened her eyes and met his. “It’s good enough for me.”

Slowly, Tommy’s mouth went slack and his brows climbed in surprise. He hadn’t actually expected her to agree. He’d been waiting to be rejected, again. “Really?”

Awkwardly adjusting her glasses, Felicity nodded. “Really. God, I hope I don’t regret this.”

He shot forward, startling her, and grinned. “Trust me, you won’t. So, should we settle pay, or hours, or—?”

“Actually,” Felicity interrupted, digging her phone out of her bag and looking at the display. “My lunch hour ended five minutes ago. We can settle details when I’m done for the day.” She looked back up at him and then held out a demanding hand, fingers crooking quickly in a gimme motion. “Give me your phone.”

Slipping it out of his back pocket, Tommy laid the iPhone on her palm. She did a quick doubletake. “Is this even out yet?” Tommy shrugged, not actually sure. She shook her head at him, but quickly thumbed in her information. “There. Call me around five-thirty.”

She handed him back the phone and stood, and Tommy half rose with her. “Wait, don’t you want to get my number?”

Turning, she hefted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and smirked. “Trust me, if I need to find you, I’ll find you.”

She walked away with a flip of blonde ponytail, and Tommy stood there grinning. That was exactly what he was hoping for.

 


End file.
